


Spooky and the Freak

by theunicornandtheraven



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, The X-Files
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:05:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theunicornandtheraven/pseuds/theunicornandtheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs. Hudson finally gets someone to move into 221C, and Sherlock gets a shock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spooky and the Freak

When John padded into the kitchen one morning, he found Sherlock in a dressing gown, staring out the window and down to the street below.

"Morning," he said, filling the tea kettle.

"Neighbors, John. We've got neighbors," said Sherlock.

John's eyebrows knitted together. "I know that, Sherlock. There's Mrs. Hudson, and that gay couple lives at Mrs. Thompson's."

Sherlock sighed in a way that let John know he thought his flatmate was being slow. "No. I mean that someone's moving into 221C."

"What?" John crossed over to the window to look. Sure enough, a moving van had parked outside their flat, and men in uniforms carried boxes inside. "Well, I hope they like hearing the violin at four in the morning, then." He moved back to the kitchen.

"You don't understand, do you? I've done the calculations, and these new neighbors are going to waste about thirty hours of our time each year."

John almost asked how Sherlock could calculate that, but thought better of it. "Please don't drive them away. Mrs. Hudson's been trying to rent out that flat for ages, and she really could use the money." The kettle started to shriek, and he grabbed two mugs out of the cabinet.

"I do not have thirty hours of time to waste."

"Thirty hours doing what, exactly?"

"Running into them on the stairs, being pulled into pointless conversation. Dealing with their complaints about noises and smells coming from our flat. Whatever it is that neighbors do."

"Right." John got the milk out of the refrigerator, silently lamenting the fact that Sherlock would not pick up milk when he asked. They barely had enough for the tea. He could just take care of it himself, but he refused to let go of the hope that one day Sherlock would do the shopping. "So if you've been watching these people move in, can you tell me what they're like?"

Sherlock grimaced. "American. A man and a woman. Both have lived alone for some time before this. Former FBI agents."

"Then what are they doing in London?"

"Not sure yet."

"And how do you know all of this?"

"Their luggage, plus the fact that they have doubles of certain items. Both carry guns regularly, which I could see from the wardrobe boxes, and they own more suits than average. What job requires one to carry a gun and wear a suit in America? The FBI. Simple, really."

"Fantastic."

Sherlock tried to conceal the expression he made at the sound of John's praise. "Hardly."

"Well, if they're FBI agents, we should get on pretty well. Maybe they'll do some work at the Yard."

"I doubt it. Why move to London when they already have some sort of job in Washington?"

"Washington, as in DC?" John handed Sherlock the tea.

Sherlock sipped his tea and didn't explain the deduction. John stood next to him and finished the drink in silence.

Later that morning, Sherlock had just emerged from his room fully dressed when Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door. "Boys," she called, "I'd like you to come to my flat for lunch this afternoon. I'm having the new neighbors over."

"We'll be there," John called back. He glanced at the curly-haired man sulking behind him and prayed for strength.

"Sherlock, you can't just go to lunch in your dressing gown!" John said that afternoon.

"Why not?"

John decided not to give that the dignity of a response. "Did you even brush your teeth this morning?"

"Of course I did. I'm not going to let a mind like mine be done in my something as simple as oral hygiene. But I see no reason to get dressed for these people."

"I didn't get mad when you wore that sheet to Buckingham Palace, but this is different. These are people you're going to see on a regular basis, so I suggest you try to treat them with a little respect. Mrs. Hudson needs the money, so she's not going to let you keep…keep….being you if these new people complain, so get dressed."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John. "No."

John really didn't want to fight with Sherlock. "At least put some shoes on, then."

"That's hardly-"

"We're going to be eating, for God's sake. No one wants to see your feet during lunch."

"John." He resorted to whinging, dragging out the vowel sound.

"Shoes. Now."

"Fine." Sherlock skulked off to his bedroom to find some shoes before he headed downstairs with John.

Mrs. Hudson tut-tutted at the sight of Sherlock's dressing gown when she answered the door. "I'm glad you could come, dear," she said, like they'd come from far away. John shrugged an apology at her, and she nodded her acceptance. "The other two haven't gotten here, yet."

She ushered them inside and bade them to sit down on the couch before scuttling off to the kitchen. After a moment, they heard feet on the stairs.

Sherlock suddenly sat up very straight, an expression of surprise on his face. "Of course, of course. I should have known. Stupid of me," he said.

John understood that his flatmate didn't expect a response, so he just sat there, puzzled. Someone knocked on the door, and Mrs. Hudson answered it.

The pair of new neighbors, a tall man with boyish good looks and a pale redheaded woman, entered. "Sherlock! I didn't expect you here," said the man. He pulled the consulting detective into a hug as the room's other occupants looked on in confusion. John noticed that the man's accent was indeed American.

"You two know each other?" said the redhead.

"We go way back. Sherlock was my roommate at Oxford. I can't believe we're neighbors now," said the man.

Sherlock trained his gaze on his friend's companion. "How long have you two been dating?" he said.

The woman let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a cough. "Sorry?" she said.

Sherlock started to explain, but John cut him off. "Before you show off, can we make introductions please? I don't think most of us know what's going on," he said.

Mrs. Hudson stepped forward. "You're right, love. These two are Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. I usually call them 'boys.' Over here we have Fox Mulder and Dr. Dana Scully."

The group followed suit with the requisite "Nice to meet you'”s and handshakes and polite noises, excepting Sherlock. The consulting detective stood with his arms crossed, tapping his foot and glaring at the others. Eventually they finished gave him their attention.

"Mulder has a red hair stuck to the shoulder of his shirt, and there are traces of sunflower seeds under Scully's fingernails. She's been resting her head on his shoulder, probably on the flight here." Sherlock smiled. "And I know that Mulder doesn't share his sunflower seeds readily."

"We always get that, but we're just friends, I swear," Scully said.

"That's funny. The same thing always happens to Sherlock and me," said John.

Mrs. Hudson looked positively radiant at the sight of the two doctors getting along. "Perfect. You already have something in common. Now let's eat, shall we?" She shepherded them to the table, and they sat down.

"So what brings you to London?" John asked.

"Torchwood," Sherlock said. Mulder and Scully exchanged somewhat horrified looks. Again, John sat in silent confusion. "Oh don't worry, your secret's safe with me. I found it whilst poking around on Mycroft's computer. These two are the perfect candidates. Experience with aliens, dissatisfied at the FBI, previous experience over here, the whole nine yards."

John still didn't understand. "Did you say aliens?" he said.

Scully sighed and rested her forehead against her hand. "Please don't ever say those words around Mulder. Ever. I thought we'd at least get something of a break from the supernatural until Monday," she said.

Mulder explained their work with the X-files to John. "It was like that for a while, then I was contacted by someone from Torchwood. Jack Harkness. He thought we'd be a good fit, and here we are."

"Do tell Jack I say hello," said Sherlock.

"You know him?" said Scully.

"You could say we've crossed paths before," Sherlock said.

Most of the conversation had confused Mrs. Hudson, and she wanted to join in. "Is he a nice man?" she said.

Sherlock and Mulder made the same face as they tried to reign in their laughter. It alienated the others at the table. "I guess," Mulder said.

The conversation reached another patch of silence broken by the sound of silverware on plates.

"What was it like, living with Mulder, Sherlock?" Scully said.

"Intolerable by most people's standards. That's why they placed him with me. I'd do experiments and play the violin at all hours of the night and not talk for days. He'd never shut up about aliens or monsters or whatever. He used to throw pencils at the ceiling when he was bored," said Sherlock.

Scully grinned. "He still does that. You should have seen the state his office before we cleared it out," she said.

"It wasn't that bad," Mulder said. Scully rolled her eyes.

"In my work with Scotland Yard, I did have a touching reunion with Sally Donovan," Sherlock said.

Mulder's face fell. "Oh no. Is she still horrible to you?"

"Better. She still calls me 'Freak.'"

"Do you think she'd remember me?"

"Of course. I'm Freak, you're Spooky."

Again, Mrs. Hudson beamed at the sight of them bonding and decided she'd made a good decision. She could have leased out 221C a long time ago, but she had problems finding takers who wouldn't be put off by odd noises or smells coming from the apartment above, and she didn't want to have to evict Sherlock and John. Instead, she found someone who'd fit into the crazy world of 221.

And fit they did.


End file.
